Keep My Word
by TenTenD
Summary: The throne changes hands in mysterious circumstances and not all is as it seems. Unfortunately it turns out the bargain Lyanna congratulated herself for is, in fact, only the beginning of a night terror in the making. AU! Lyanna's bleeding heart gets her in trouble. A dragon, even bedridden, breaks his fast on the soft hearts of fair maidens.


"Me?" Lyanna pointed to herself with more than a smidgeon of confusion. Her other hand still hadn't let go of the fine silks she'd been inspecting. "Are you certain father should want to see me in his solar?" The squire nodded. Lyanna was not certain what she ought to make of that either. Domeric did not come to fetch her with any sort of regularity. And indeed, she could only raise one eyebrow at this very peculiar occurrence. Turning ever so slightly to look at Rhea Florent whose smile had only dimmed slightly. "I will have to amuse you with that particular account later, my lady."

"What a diligent daughter you are," Rhea laughed throatily, her teasing good-natured if not sisterly. Lyanna responded in kind, and returned her attention to Domeric Bolton and his cutting gaze. That one was all his father. Except for his love of horses.

"Do you know why he wants to see me?" she asked as they made their way down the hallway, walking side by side, as though they were steadfast companions. Lyanna supposed there was some of that to them. But nowhere near enough to merit any attention from him apparently. Domeric gave her a dry look. "At least tell me if he is mad."

"Not that I could divine."

* * *

Her father was not alone. Lyanna greeted the Queen-mother with only slight surprise. The rest of her mind was concentrating on the mystery of this summon. She'd thought that might be father had reconsidered allowing her to remain in King's Landing because of her disagreement with Richard Lonmouth. But he had deserved it and she had only given him a small lesson. It was not fair that he would never be punished for his discourteous words.

Alas, that did not seem to be the case. Or rather thankfully. If the King's mother was there, surely father had something else in mind. "Lord father, Your Grace," her voice broke the somewhat heavy silence. It was fraught with an odd manner of tension, the likes of which she'd never seen before. The uncomfortable silence returned, swelling between the three of them. Lyanna lowered her gaze to the ground, admitting the skillful weave of the Myrish carpet as she admonished herself for a shocking lack of patience as her father cleared his throat.

"Your lady mother received word from Lady Cassana," he said at long last, with the effect that all blood drained from Lyanna's face. She'd been hoping an answer never came. "It seems Robert had taken it upon himself to choose his own bride." A dry smile formed on her father's face. "There will be no wedding, after all." Suppressing a smile, Lyanna swallowed her cry of joy. "Which leaves us few other options."

She started. He could not mean to sell her into some other like contract. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

Rickard nodded understandingly. "You could wed a lord of my choosing upon your return to Winterfell," he said, calm and collected, seemingly impervious to her agitation. "Or you could remain here and wed the Prince."

Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled. A gust of wind swept past the thin curtains, shaking them in violent fits. The elder son, she mused. Was that why she'd been called there? Could it be? "I did not mean any harm," she spoke carefully, addressing the words to the Queen-mother. "I just thought–" That Ser Dayne would not betray her secret? She'd hoped he mightn't. "I thought he might be lonely." What a lame explanation. Lyanna pursed her lips. "All alone up in that tower."

"You are not being punished," the older woman clarified. Her voice held no trace of warmth. Might be she was no capable of warmth. "The choice does belong to you. No one will be mad if you refuse, just as no one will be displeased should you agree. Need I point out you'll have acquired a title? Lands of your own? A good amount of coin?" She stood. "It is a rare occurrence when one is allowed choice."

"But he would have no choice," Lyanna could not help but point out.

A sad smile flickered upon the mother's face. "He doesn't need any."

* * *

"You cannot be serious." Richard Lonmouth laughed until he began choking. Lyanna shot him an incredulous stare, along with a hit to the knee. "You little harpy," the man muttered with a scowl, grabbing at her shoulders and pushing her away. "Just because the Queen-mother is mad is no cause to consider her plan as though it were sound."

"My father allowed her to approach me with it. Presumably, he thinks it a sound plan as well." She twisted uncomfortably to look over Richard's shoulder once his eyes seared through the thin veneer she wore as shield.

"He was my friend." Such simple words. A wealth of pain had been crammed behind them. It lurked just beneath the surface. Indeed, Lyanna almost thought she heard Richard's voice crack with it. "He was a wonderful man. He would have been a wonderful king."

Lyanna did not dispute his words. She hadn't known Rhaegar Targaryen when he could do aught more than stare into the high ceilings. "He is not dead."

"He might as well have been." The light caught in her friend's eye. Tears were such an uncommon sight on him. "I should have stayed by his side."

"What good would it have done?" Everyone knew that story. "Those assassins were highly trained. Not even the Kingsguards stood a chance against them." Case in point, the old King had died and his eldest son had nearly followed.

"I wouldn't be able to stop you if you chose to wed him, of course," Richard continued after a brief silence, "but I will have you know, I mean to be a constant thorn in your side until I am satisfied he is well looked after. He deserves at least that much."

Looking down at her hands, Lyanna curled her fingers inwards. "You already are a thorn in my side, Lonmouth."

* * *

She almost didn't come to him that evening. Lyanna regarded the scroll in her lap with new eyes. It was a story she knew without having to read it. But it would be decidedly awkward to keep her eyes on him all the while she prattled on. Not that it was a poor sight. In fact, despite the unfortunate circumstances, the Prince had maintained much of his outward charm. But then she decided there was no point in hiding. The man did not know what was happening. So she did go to him scroll in tow. And she read him the story.

"And so," Lyanna sighed, "the brave knight gave the beautiful lady away to the awaiting King." And the maiden received a crown and forgot all about her knight. "This is truly a stupid story," she told Rhaegar. "He saved her life." Brushing the scroll aside she leaned over her silent companion and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. "The least she could do was ask the king to give him a handsome reward."

Lyanna looked down into the man's face. Had he been in full possession of his faculties, he would have undoubtedly been wed by now. He would have had children. They would have undoubtedly been very handsome children. Another sigh left her lips. "I want children," she whispered to no one in particular. He would never answer. "That you cannot give me, for all your titles and coin."

Pushing back, she regarded him with more detachment. "But you would be an exemplary husband. Kind, considerate, faithful. Invisible for all intents and purposes." She'd be under no man's thumb wedded to him. "And you could do worse than me. Lady Rhea has been telling me that one of her cousins has a daughter who is lame, poor thing. I don't mean to disparage her, but you can imagine her prospects are somewhat thin, what with the Florent good looks to aid her alone. My point is, I am a decent catch. I have all my teeth, I am young; I can be persuaded to kindness." And she was woefully unwilling to be any man's property. "I would not be so much yours as you would be mine, I perceive."

She sat back down in her chair, gaze sliding to the scroll lying forgotten on the floor. Richard's words sounded in her mind. "You wouldn't be very bothered by my presence, and I not at all by yours. It is a good match, Your Grace. My father shall have his chance to tell others House Stark has joined the other great houses in creating links to the royal family."

Then she decided.

* * *

In the end there was no fuss. The Queen-mother had simply nodded when receiving Lyanna's answer. Her father had had the same reaction. She'd been given time to have her possessions moved to a chamber within Maegor's Holdfast and have a few of her constant companions become her ladies-in-waiting. It was almost as though she were dreaming the whole of it.

"I told you the best outcomes come from reading to sleeping princes," Rhea Florent laughed softly as she sat down next to Lyanna on a wide bench. Stray rays of sunshine played along the beaten path. "You are a most peculiar woman."

"Why?" Scintillating conversations aside, Rhea was the first she'd told about her decision to take the Prince for husband after all and she had seemed genuinely pleased that Lyanna got her choice. She understood, might be in a way no one else had. "Ought I have wedded someone of my father's choosing then?"

"That is what most maidens do." And she did not begrudge them any of it, Lyanna thought, but she was not most maidens, it seemed that she could not be contented with such a fate. "But you already know that was not my point. I daren't ask before, but were you hurt by Robert's desertion?"

Here she laughed as well, loud and long, covering her mouth to hide her mirth out of habit. "I practically pushed him into her arms. I've never been gladder than when Lady Cassana wrote he would be wedding her after all. I wish him only joy and happiness. Wedded bliss."

"Yet you would not wish the same for yourself." It was a question. That much Lyanna surmised only after a few moments of considering the look upon Rhea's face.

"I think we have very different definitions of it, Rhea, indeed, if you think I am not blissful in my choice." Her earlier musings returned. The Queen-mother's words joined in as well. "I do not think there has ever been a happier bride." There was only a faint trace of mockery in those words.

"What about children?" They'd often spoken of children. The ones they would have, how they'd bring them together.

"Not all women are destined to be mothers." Her lips stretched into a thin smile. "I will simply have to content myself with watching your children grow. Promise me you shall wed soon and bring your brood over when you've finally composed it."

* * *

Ser Arthur unfastened her cloak with careful movements and took it off of her shoulders as Richard Lonmouth spoke the words while Myles Mooton pushed another cloak towards him. It was a small affair, her wedding. Her father had had to leave and she was placed in the Queen-mother's care who arranged for her to be wed by proxy. It did not escape her that all three men had been good friends of the Prince when he was yet himself.

There was another participant. A man she'd not yet exchanged more than a brief nod with. Lyanna ignored that one for the most part, for it seemed to her he mourned the Prince more deeply than his companions. It was never a good idea to pry into the wounds of others.

The septon's attention snapped to her. She muddled her way through the vows with a limp, faded smile. It would be over soon, she told herself.

* * *

Life fell into a pattern all of its own. It was so very easy for it to, after all. King's Landing offered one the chance of orderly existence filled with small delights. It all suited Lyanna very well. Is there was anything which might assure her she'd made the right choice that was it.

Mornings were reserved for solitary rides through the considerable space afforded to her. She was not truly alone, for one of the Kingsguards followed at all times. But the men knew to keep a discrete distance, thus the illusion of privacy remained undisturbed, allowing Lyanna to mentally wander through her day, making plans. She would return to check upon her husband. Not that she had any need for it; the man never moved an inch. But she asked of the servants to bring her hot water, soap and a razor. It was not much of a marriage and the small intimacy had seemed to her a paltry payment for what she received, but it was what she could give. Once done with that, she left him in the capable hands on the acolytes until came the time to see him again.

The rest of her day was spent with her ladies-in-waiting, spinning yarn and conversations. And when supper time came alone she sent them all off, insisting that she would be eating with her husband. Or rather, Lyanna fed him his meal and then ate hers before reading to him some old ballad or tale she found in a dusty corner of the library. She imagined, only fir a few moments each evening, that he might speak to her, laugh at the severe stupidity of Florian the Fool or even admire her cutting wit when she had cause to use it. He never did. So, at the end of the evening, she would cover him up to his chin and place a soft kiss to his cheek, in deference to custom.

His companions came to visit once in a while. His mother more often. The King himself was known to drop in from time to time; never his Queen though.

Naught disturbed the pattern. And naught ever would. Or so Lyanna imagined.

Until one fateful day.

It dawned like any other day might have before it. Lyanna never even suspected fate had a surprise in store for her. Thus she went about her usual preparations with nary a thought to her husband beyond the obligatory acknowledgement of his existence.

Her ignorance lasted well into the morning; until she had returned from her ride and a sharpened shaving blade was placed into her hand, a bow of steaming water and soap close by. Lyanna took her usual seat upon the left edge, testing the blade's sharpness. Once satisfied, she put it aside and began washing Rhaegar's face with a soft towel. Droplets of water sank down. She lathered his skin carefully and then rinsed her hands.

All it took was a moment. She turned to grab the shaver and then towards him.

Impossibly violet eyes, wide eyes, stared at her.

* * *

Pressed in the Queen-mother's embrace, Lyanna struggled to breathe and offer comfort at the same time. No one had ever held her quite as fiercely before. And she did not know what to say to the woman, except that she hadn't done anything to deserve such praise as the ones heaped upon her.

Rhaegar was most elusive for the following few days. Or rather Lyanna avoided being in his company. His newly awakened state was a matter the Grand Maester and his bevy of acolytes doggedly kept from sight, despite word having spread far and wide. Not even Lyanna was allowed to be near. She had simply sighed and complied with the demand. They were the ones knowledgeable in the arts of healing.

Rhea patted her hand gently as they took their supper together. "You'll be back by his side in no time," she assured with a knowing smile.

Lyanna frowned at her. "My lady, I know not what you speak of." She forked up a piece of meat and shoved it in her mouth.

Whether her companion was convinced or not, she couldn't tell. But Rhea did not prod any further and Lyanna offered nothing else on her husband. Though, privately, she did acknowledge that the great disturbance in her usual pattern was not aught she relished. How much of her time did those fools wish to waste?

And then she could not help herself. "They think the knock to the head addled his wits." Rhaegar had not spoken. Indeed, he'd given little sign he even knew where he was to begin with. A chill crept down Lyanna's spine. "What am I going to do?"

She was, of course, free to ask for an annulment. The marriage had never been consummated and the gods knew if it ever would. But to leave him? It seemed unconscionable. To shame a man who could not defend himself; what sort of woman would that make her?

* * *

"My lady, you cannot–" The acolyte fell against the wall as she shoved her way past him. Lyanna flashed the man a cool look and drew herself up to her full height, and added a little to it by rising on her tiptoes.

"Do you think to order me?" she demanded in as firm a voice as she could muster. "I am going to see my lord husband and you are going to be quiet and allow me a few moments with him." His protests never even registered to her until she stood in the middle of a sea of bloodied sheets, bearing witness to am incredible scene. "What is the meaning of this?"

The Grand Maester jumped away from his struggling patient, narrowing his eyes upon her. "Your Grace, no one is to step into this chamber."

"Well I am someone and I should thank you to remember that," Lyanna answered sharply, stepping over the sheets. "You will let me in and you will tell me what you are doing to _my_ husband or I _will_ have words with His Majesty." She glowered when he failed to comply.

Pycelle trembled lightly, one hand coming up to swipe away at beads of sweat. "His Grace is agitated and we cannot properly care for him in such a state. A little bloodletting would drain the excess of humours."

"And how many times have you applied this treatment to him?" Her palms were already itching. Lyanna locked her gaze onto the man upon the bed. Did he even know who she was? Could he understand her words? No answer was forthcoming from the older man. "Tell me, master," she pressed nonetheless.

"The fourth time." His begrudging admission was the last straw.

"Get out of this chamber." For a brief moment she was not even sure it was her own voice that spoke. But surely it had to be for Pycelle started and began protesting. Lyanna would not fight with him. She squared her shoulders and called out, "Ser Dayne. Step in a moment." The man came at her call, one hand upon Dawn. "The Grand Maester was just leaving. His helpers as well."

"He will have a fit," Pycelle warned of the patient. He might even grow violent.

"How violent can a man who's spent the last moon turns lying as the dead be?" she sneered implacably. "Out." And this time her words were heeded.

Arthur Dayne lingered, eyeing the man as well. "You too, ser. Some things are better left private." He did not argue.

Left alone with her spouse after a soft thud indicated the door had been closed, Lyanna surveyed her surroundings until her gaze returned to Rhaegar. He looked tense. And curious. "I am Lyanna," she told him, using he gentlest voice she knew. He nodded. "We are wedded, you know?" His eyes narrowed, as though he could not quite make her out. "Richard signed the papers for you. Lonmouth, that is."

His lips parted and moved. No sound came. Lyanna drew closer, holding her hands up and out, to show she meant no threat. Rhaegar did not flinch at her approach. His lips continued moving. Something like a whine tore from his throat and his eyes closed.

It struck her then, he was trying to speak.

"Wife." It was barely a whisper.

* * *

The right side of his face was pressed into a small, warm bosom and words poured into his ear from above. Rhaegar would have found such behaviour peculiar any time of the day, even more so from this woman. Even more so given that he was not even supposed to be alive. Might be he wasn't and this was some strange waiting hall. Her warmth seeped into him and his limbs thrummed with pain. A thousand small needles pressed into his skin.

What had happened?

The woman let him go and pulled back. Lyanna she'd said her name was. Gently she helped him back against the pillows. "His Majesty will be so very pleased to see you." His stomach squeezed painfully. The bastard had survived as well? "And your lady mother. Pycelle allowed no one in. You can understand me, can you not?" He did not give an answer.

The King could not still be alive; not his father at any rate. May, he would have never been wedded had the man survived; he would have been buried, if anything. Nay; Viserys must have assumed the throne as the next heir. His thoughts ran away from him.

Glancing at Lyanna he grimaced lightly. Did the woman ever shut up?

* * *

It all returned to him. To the last bloody detail. Did anyone else know? And would it matter if they did? What could be gained by exposing him now when he was just a ruin of a man? Rhaegar breathed in slowly, lying there in bed, wondering what in the seven hells he was going to do. He had a bloody wife. A woman he knew not at all. Whatever his course of action, it would be the height of folly to relax too soon.

* * *

She had small hands. Why, of all things he should take note of, 'twas her hands which should concerned him, presented itself as somewhat of a mystery. In the face of that observation, powerless invalids were forced to make do with the only answer available to them; the hands were upon him and he was naturally inclined to keep an eye on them. She was not doing naught of particular import, it had to be said, but the intimate contact felt foreign and almost dangerous.

"There we go." The damp cloth she'd been smoothing over his face retreated, the hand on his shoulder along with it. "That ought to be enough." He resisted the urge to glower. For the time being, no matter how much he disliked the notion, she was the one in superior position and he had much to catch up on.

He met her eyes. Their air between then snapped and crackled. Her smile faltered. "You mustn't look so fierce now. Viserys might well be the King, but he is yet a child. What if he should take fright? That would not do. Not at all."

Speaking was painful, thus he could not rebut her. Moving caused him innumerable aches, therefore pushing her away was not an option. Rhaegar was forced to accept that, for the time being, it was the woman before him who would be his mouth in all matters of import. How he wished to antagonise her; just once. To see her ire turned upon him and know just what she was capable of. If only to show her his current predicament had no bearing on his opinion of what a husband ought and ought not to be.

Lyanna drew back, staring at him intently. "What displeases you, Your Grace?" He couldn't live with some saintly woman who had agreed to wed him out of pity. How could a man look into the eyes of such a woman and not stoke the flames of anger and discontentment. "The silence stretched between them until she broke it. "You won't answer?"

He allowed that he wouldn't by a lazy shake of the head and she sighed deeply. His wife reached out, taking hold of his left arm. She lifted it gently, feeling her way along the limb through the material of his garb. "Then I do not know how to fix it." There was no fixing it to begin with. Her fingers pressed into the muscles, as though attempting to get them to work. His fingers twitched against the palm of her other hand. The maesters had been clear that they could not expect much progress as far as his body went. "Attempt that again, Your Grace." Better positioning her palm underneath his fingertips, she looked to him expectantly.

He gave it his best, struggling to move the limb. Teeth gnashed with the effort. Light trembles rocked the limb as his index and middle fingers moved inwards. A delighted sound came from the girl sitting across him as warm hands wrapped around his, congratulatory words pouring forth.

* * *

Viserys had grown some since last they'd seen one another. But he was still very much a child, easily pleased into exchanging words and even more easily convinced into giving away affection. That, he supposed, was his mother's doing. He watched his lady wife entertain his brother, aware that the pause between her mother's musings had lengthened. "You were always hard to please in matters of the heart." His attention slowly returned to the dowager. "Had you been well enough to make your own choices, you might have selected another."

Battling the painful thorn scratching within his throat as soon as he opened his mouth, Rhaegar managed to eke out the two words which sought clarification. "Why her?" The rust clung to his voice, deepening an already thick timbre.

His lady mother hesitated, bringing her hand into her lap. He watched her fingers play with a string of pearls falling from the petal it had been pinned to. "I couldn't come here. To see you in such a state every single day was too much of a reminder." Her voice as soft, much too soft for anything to go past the two of them. "She thought you lonely. I agreed."

He'd not been lonely. Visions of his father had tormented his sleep. Rhaegar supposed that was as it should be. How could a child harm his own parent and not expect divine retribution? And his poor lady mother, in an effort to stave off that which had never affected him, had pushed that young girl upon a path she'd grow weary of before long.

"One day, when you are better, you must grow closer to her." Again he looked at his wife and brother. "I like her daring and her candour. But she will need to learn to don masks, as you will doubtlessly come to join your brother's gatherings by and by. Who better to teach her than you?"

* * *

He was only half-asleep when a hand touched his forehead. Instinctively, he opened his eyes, wondering why the limb hadn't disappeared as he rolled away. But a moment later he recalled he could not move and in spite of his desire to not be touched, he'd have to endure, as his feeble body was not yet capable of saving him from such. Rhaegar found himself staring into familiar eyes. "I thought you slept." The hand on his forehead drifted away, warmth dissipating in its wake. "His Majesty must have tired you out." Hardly that; Viserys had, after all, been kept busy by her or otherwise under strict supervision. Gently, she helped him to a sitting position, arranging the pillows into a high mound at his back. "I've brought you something to eat."

"Time?" he questioned, biting back all unpleasantness accompanying the act. As though she could read his mind, however, his lady wife touched his throat with a wealth of gentleness. The back of her fingers painted his skin with feather-brushes.

"Just about supper. I thought to let you rest more, but how can you regain your strength if you do not eat?" Always talking. Might be she hated the silence. "Are you comfortable?" With her sitting across him like that, always one step away from turning on him? Not quite. He still nodded. "Good then; let us eat."

Being that he was the object of her pity, he was not surprised when he'd been told she was the one who took care of feeding him since their marriage. He remained equally composed in the face of her insistence that she continue to do so. Thus he ate the little he could eat, listening to her prattle on about her brothers and the home of her childhood.

"One day," she said, pausing in order to scoop up more soup, "I hope you will tell me about your childhood. Ser Richard and Ser Dayne have been very kind in sharing some stories with me, but I should like to hear them from you." She smiled. "Besides, you must have grown tired of my voice by now."

* * *

"That's good still," Arthur commented, eyeing the movements of his hand. Rhaegar shook his head, to which his lifelong friend gave a heart snort. "You can't force it at this point. Best to give it time."

"Give it time?" He breathed in through his nose, relieved when the cool air doused the flames burning his throat dry. "I have." Arthur regarded him with a serious mien. "Too much."

"I am thinking I should call your lady wife." Rhaegar was aware of the grimace morphing his features. He was aware of the amusement Dayne experienced. And he was also aware of his intense desire to lash out. Therefore, he swallowed away his ire. "Is she too much trouble?"

He didn't like that mixture of feelings roiling within him whenever she was there. She was always talking, forever reaching out to him. "Still," Arthur interrupted before the thoughts could grab hold of his attention, "you could have done a lot worse." A smile quirked his friend's lips. "What man wouldn't want a devoted wife?"

"I can't." He dropped his hand atop the sheets, letting it lie uselessly there. Rhaegar didn't even think he had the strength to lift the other one.

"Can't want a devoted wife?" He wouldn't understand; Arthur was a lot of things, among which Rhaegar counted a steady, kind character, and that alone ensured the distance between them could not be breached. "Not everyone needs to be kept at a distance, Rhaegar."

"You can't care too deeply," he forced out. His throat locked tightly. "Not good." Somehow, he would have to make himself comfortable with the exercise of speech.

Arthur hummed low in his throat. "It takes courage to care." He'd been a pawn in the tug-of-war matches between his parents and later on many had sought to ally themselves with him in hopes that they might engage him on a deeper level. Lyanna Stark couldn't be all that different. "And it takes wisdom to know on whom you settle your concern. Do you want to hear my opinion?"

He nodded. It sometimes helped strengthen his position to hear his friend's optimistic spin on matters. "It would be more comfortable for you to close yourself off and refuse any manner of affection pushed your way. It will protect you. For a time, at least. But none of us can stand to be alone; that I know. And the companionship of books can only last you as long as there are pages." Arthur touched his shoulder in a much too gentle fashion. "You are so much more than your father's son. I wish you wouldn't hide in his shadows. Give it some further thought."

In the face of such a plea even he had to give some assurance. "I will." He did not want to consider the matter too closely and promised himself that his position upon the matter would not change drastically.

Arthur chuckled and stood to his feet, drawing his hand away as he did so. "I reckon Her Grace will be up any moment now and I have kept you long enough."

* * *

Viserys stuffed a lemon cake in his mouth, all the finesse of his age on display. Crumbs sprayed around him, landing on the front of his tunic and along the bedding. Rhaegar looked to Lyanna for help, but after a short perusal of the pair of them, she returned her attention to the tome she'd been preoccupied with for the last hour or so.

His brother, meantime, had figured out no one would protest too much if he broke some of the rules, thus began speaking of some amusing incident involving his whipping boy, which naturally led to him moving about and a wave of crumbs spraying forth.

* * *

"You have to wake up." Lyanna supposed that was what she got for attempting to check on her husband in the late hours of the night. Trouble was that once she'd woken up, her thoughts had her twisting and turning until she'd agreed with that small urge pressing her that she had to look in on Rhaegar. And thus she found herself with a clearly agitated fellow on her hands. Stubborn one as well, by the way he refused to listen. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she shook him. Hard.

Her husband came to with a start. The sweat on his brow glistened in the low candlelight. There was a wild look in his eyes. A string of incoherent words broke past his lips. Lyanna did not think he'd ever seen such a disconcerted person before.

Not knowing what she could possibly do, she hugged him to her, carding her fingers through his hair. "'Twas but a dream, husband. You needn't fear." She realised after a few moments that he shook and trembled in her hold. And he had quite exerted himself by the looks of it. "You cannot sleep like this." Gently, she moved one of the bigger pillows against the headboard and aided him in sitting up. "Give me a moment."

She thought to leave and call a servant, but before she'd even managed to get off the bed his fingers tugged on her wrist.

"Don't." There was little force behind the grip and she might have easily tugged herself free, but then, it was the very first time he touched her voluntarily and for some odd reason that compelled her to obey. Still, she had to insist upon her reasoning.

"Your Grace, lesser men have caught chill for aught of this manner." In the end she won out, hollow as the victory was. Once she'd helped him to a more comfortable state, Lyanna settled atop the covers, leaning her back against the headboard.

That elicited no comment from her husband, though he did glance worriedly her way. "The candles." The reminder got a nod out of her.

"I will be gone as soon as you have fallen asleep."

* * *

"Being stubborn never helped anyone," Richard pointed out. "Arthur, back me up." Rhaegar looked between the two of them, somewhat annoyed at the turn of conversation. Vexing though they might be, he recognised the point that was being made. "The kingdoms will still be waiting right here where you've left them."

That wife of his, if only he were able, he'd throttle her. For some reason she seemed convinced he'd benefit from a long, arduous trip to Winterfell. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by her kin, all of them, supposedly, as chatty as her. He shuddered at the thought.

"Lonmouth has the right of it." They were up to some scheme, he understood by their eagerness to see him off. But what could it be? "And your lady wife would surely enjoy spending some time in more familiar surroundings." Which she could do without him. Rhaegar was tempted to point out the futility of his presence, wondering what reason they could concoct to the contrary. If it weren't hitting so close to home, he might well have.

It had been a clever touch to have Richard and Arthur pester him to agree. He'd have to remember that, in the future. Lyanna Stark was not mere talk.

* * *

Leaning heavily against the wall, Rhaegar glared at his uncooperative limbs. His right leg throbbed painfully, alerting him to the continued frailty of his body. Frustration swelled just as a pair of arms wrapped about his middle. His lady wife pressed into his side. "We are so close to the end of the chamber, Your Grace. Do not be discouraged now." Rhaegar looked down into her face. He doubted she had the necessary strength to keep them both upright. Shifting his weight upon his left leg, he breathed in deeply.

Meantime, the woman at his side had begun speaking of something or another. She rarely expected any manner of answer from him as the words were meant to fill an awkward silence rather than communicate aught of import. He'd learned to push the noise into the background. Miraculously enough, with all the doubt and chatter standing in the way, he did somehow manage to reach the end of the chamber. Both his legs ached with the exertion. He braced against the solid body before him, taking in the joy radiating off of the person at his side.

"On the morrow, you shall make it on your own." He would definitely attempt as much. As to what success he could look forward to, that he did not know. The progress was slow, which only added to his dissatisfaction.

"I will." Occasionally he humoured her and spoke a word or two. The surprise flickering across her features was payment enough for the effort. Lyanna beamed at him. The arms around him tightened their hold, the affectionate gesture causing him to stiffen. She ignored the reaction as she always did. Might be she thought 'twas merely the nature of unused muscle when woken from deep slumber.

"Of course you will." She drew away, still smiling. A twinge in his chest reminded him that he ought to give little attention to such details.

* * *

The benches within the wheelhouse had been removed, its floor covered in soft rugs and pillows. Lyanna had insisted that he lie down for the time being, his head on her lap. The scent of her bathing oils wafted about, ubiquitous. He could do naught but allow her to do as she would. Her fingers were busily combing through his hair. Then and again her nails would scrape against his scalp, the motion sending little quivers down his spine. She was speaking about horses.

"Have you fallen asleep, Your Grace?" He might have pretended such. Rhaegar have a rumbling sigh before he opened his eyes, looking up at her.

"How could I possibly sleep with all the noise?" She blinked. Then she giggled.

Brushing a strand of hair out of his face, Lyanna continued with the previous subject. The nonchalance with which she brushed him off rankled. He sometimes wondered what it was she saw when she looked at him. Surely not a man; she would not be so careless with a man. He hoped. Her fingers drifted lower, drawing circles into the thin skin at his temples. The worst of it, he supposed, was the fact that he found himself wanting the attention.

* * *

His wife was an oddity. Rhaegar supposed he should have expected as much given Lyanna had a habit of shocking him into realisations whether he wished to know or nay. Having thus reached his conclusions, Rhaegar gazed at his wife in silence as she fussed about the chamber, giving voice to half a thought every now and again. It took her time to settle.

"That was not so bad, was it?" she asked at long last, seating herself upon the edge of the bed, across from him. He'd opted to take a chair.

"Your eldest brother did not look pleased." It just so happened that he was also the one brother who had the shortest temper and strongest arm.

Lyanna snorted. "Brandon is never pleased." That was certainly encouraging. Rhaegar gave a sharp nod. "But I suspect father will find him some road to travel for a short while if he proves too much trouble." She arranged her skirts, brushing away creases. "We are safe here."

As to that, he was as safe as he'd ever been, he expected, and had no true cause to complain. "Very well, lady wife. I put myself in your hands."

She rolled her eyes. "I promise to be gentle."

* * *

He did not seem to enjoy sleeping at night. Lyanna knew he was plagued by night terrors even on the best of nights. Thus when she woke in the middle of the night to choked sounds, she was more concerned than frightened. Sometimes stroking his hair was enough to restore a peaceful sleep; other times she had to wake him. If awake, he'd accept whatever else she did with a dazed expression before turning his back on her and closing himself off.

On one particular night, once he had his back turned to her, Lyanna pursed her lips in annoyance. "Is it too much to ask that you allow me to comfort you?" That was, after all, the only thing she seemed capable of doing for him. Their marriage was, she imagined, quite unlike any other. "Give me that, at least, Your Grace, if you give me naught else."

* * *

The quiet brother was the most watchful of the lot. He moved between his siblings as a shadow might, never disturbing the surface of still waters and yet all the same troubling. At the moment, however, Lord Stark's second son was seeing what Rhaegar himself was looking at. Namely, Lyanna and the youngest brother were engaged in fierce competition over which of them could hit the target more times. He had to admit he wouldn't be putting any bow and arrows in her hands soon.

"Is she always like this?" he asked of the younger man.

It took Eddard Stark a moment to form his reply. "What is the point if she doesn't win?"

* * *

For once she was asleep when he entered the chamber. Quite surprised at the overwhelming silence, Rhaegar approached the bed with slow steps, still winded from having climbed those damned stairs. He prepared himself for bed, doing his best to ignore the gaping emptiness.

Insensible to all movements, his wife merely gave a soft sigh at the rush of cool air washing over her when he slid in t her side. Rhaegar watched her for a few moments. When he reached out it was merely to push back a strand of hair. That he ended up cupping one side of her face surely spoke of momentary madness. A ticklish feeling in the tips of his fingers forced him to withdraw. He glanced at his hand, the digits curling inwards like burnt strips of paper.

To care too deeply was to allow her too much leeway. He buried his hand beneath the covers, turning away from her. He closed his eyes, listening to the night song of a thousand tiny creatures. Behind him, his wife shifted. The old wooden frame of the bed creaked with movement.

Would it be so very dangerous if she never learned on it? He deliberated in his own mind, bringing up all the arguments and counterarguments he could muster until he found that his body had a mind all of its own and it hungered for warmth and closeness. The sleeping Lyanna threw an arm around his waist and pressed into his front even as he awkwardly held her close.

After a time he managed to relax enough that it didn't feel as though he were being stabbed every time he drew breath. Truly, he ought to enjoy it while he could. Just as long as he remembered not to take any of it to heart.

Easier said than done.

* * *

It was impulse, truly, which drove her actions. And a bit of curiosity, if she were perfectly honest. His lips were soft beneath hers, pliable and slightly cool. She drew away, inspecting him for signs of wakefulness. He slept on, oblivious to her and her actions. Just as well. It wouldn't do for him to understand every single little thing.

Snuggling closer, she closed her eyes once more. There were hours yet before she had to be up. The hand on the small of her back, both unfamiliar and thrilling moved slightly. Biting back any sign of acknowledgement, she forced herself to keep still.

Sooner or later she would fall back to sleep.


End file.
